The Countdown
by Achillia
Summary: "Ho! The Inquisitor returns!" He heard the shout first; he always heard the shout first. He could no more stop himself from crossing to the window to watch her approach than he had been able to the first dozen times.


A/N Bioware's Sandbox I just like to play. Dedicated to Em as always but especially for her making me post this since I was so fond of this one posting it seems really _really_ scary.

So yeah. Eeeek.

* * *

 **The Countdown**

"Ho! The Inquisitor returns!"

He heard the shout first; he always heard the shout first. He could no more stop himself from crossing to the window to watch her approach than he had been able to the first dozen times.

Once he'd assured himself that yes, it really was her and no, she didn't look injured, he turned, settled himself at his desk and tried desperately to finish his report before…

Ah.

There it was, the tell-tale clack of hooves on the bridge below.

And the countdown began.

30.

He organised the reports on his desk into chronological order. For the moment he was still capable of rational thought, although he could feel the tug at the corner of his lips that told him he was half-smiling and knew that he could not have stopped it for the all the world.

She would be with the stable master, going through any issues with the health of her own mount and enquiring after the rest of the herd while she fed them all sugar cubes and simultaneously earned the everlasting respect of their horse master.

25.

He closed the box containing the last lyrium vial the Templar order had ever given him and placed it in the bottom desk drawer. He only kept it out to prove he was strong enough to resist the temptation, and to remind him why he'd chosen this course in the first place. He didn't need either reminder when she was here.

She would be headed up to the keep now, walking with the gait that she'd only recently mastered which all at once said 'I will have time to listen to all of your issues later, but right now I don't, so back off'.

20.

He ran a hand over his jaw, scratching at the stubble there and devoutly wishing he'd had the time to shave this morning. He wondered if he had enough time to do so now, or whether it was more important to get some of those tarts she loved from 'The Heralds Rest'.

She would have made it to the tower by now, and would be busily stripping out of her robes before plunging into the bath the servants would have prepared for her. She was no doubt relieved to give her weary muscles some rest from the road.

15.

Deciding that she'd prefer the tarts over a properly groomed Cullen he rose from his chair and strode along the battlements. He spared a glance for the balcony at the top of the tower.

She'd be carefully unpacking her supplies and storing them in her room now. Putting everything back in its place.

10.

He decided against placing the tarts on the desk. Last time she'd been in his office, the contents of said desk had ended up on the floor. On the off chance that it happened again, he'd prefer that she ultimately got to eat the tarts.

She'd be headed down the tower and on her way to him by now. Still walking with that slightly hurried pace. He only hoped that it was enough to stop anyone delaying her.

5.

He ran his fingers through his hair just to settle the strands into order. He felt the smile bloom across his face in full and his heartbeat start to race with the knowledge that she would soon be here, in his arms, where she belonged.

4.

She would have stopped to talk to Solas on the way through. He wondered if the elf knew just how much of a lucky bastard that made him.

3.

He moved to the side of the office, taking the precaution of locking the doors that led out towards the battlements.

2.

She would be racing along the bridge now, hair loose and flowing behind her, before arriving in his office just that little bit breathless. Her face flushed from the cold winds, eyes bright and sparkling and looking far more beautiful than either his memories or dreams of her could conjure.

1.

The door burst open and he caught only a glimpse of her flushed face and sparkling eyes before she threw herself into his awaiting arms.

She was home.

Finally.

He held her against him for just a moment, allowing her scent and touch to overpower all other thoughts. He ran his fingertips through the silken strands of her hair. His heart leapt as he felt her lean into his touch, allowing him to cup her cheek and draw her lips against his own. He gently feasted on the mouth denied to him for a little over a month. Capturing first her bottom and then her top lip between his own and delighting in the little half-gasp half-moan the action elicited from her.

She pressed herself fully against him and all rationality fled from his mind as hot, bright, needful, desire descended upon him.

He wanted to restrain himself, wanted to take it slower this time, explore her, pleasure her, taste her. She deserved more than frantic passion and a part of him wanted to show her the depth of his love and not just his need. But as she released the straps holding his chest plate and those soft clever fingers began stroking his bare flesh the thought skittered away, the roaring crescendoed in his ears and all he could think of was his need for her.

The desk was in no danger this time. They weren't going to make it that far across the room.

Afterwards, they lay on the somewhat uncomfortable floor of his office, with only his cloak partially covering their naked forms, both unable to summon the energy or the will to clamber up to his bed. Besides, with the feel of her body pressed up against his own, her curls spread across his chest and her hand resting above his racing heartbeat, he wasn't inclined to move for a long while.

Eventually his heartbeat returned to its normal pace and his breathing slowed.

"I missed you," he muttered, languidly running his fingertips over the skin on her back. Against him he felt her smile.

"I missed you too," she replied. That single statement made his heart soar. He shifted slightly, moving to lie on his side so he could gather her into his arms and gaze into her eyes. She smiled up at him, looking so peaceful and so blissfully happy that just for a moment, despite everything, he felt the same way.

He leaned forward, just a little, all that was required to capture her full lips in a soft kiss. She made a pleased hum in the back of her throat, enough to make him smile against her lips.

She was so beautiful, his Inquisitor. He indulged himself for a moment in simply gazing at her. Her wildly curly hair, her gorgeous green eyes, so expressive you could read her every thought in them, her full lips still glistening with the moisture of their last kiss. His eyes darted lower, taking in the slender curve of her neck. His fingers brushed the path his eyes had already mapped. He ran his fingers over her collarbone and out towards her shoulder...

And stopped abruptly, feeling a sudden clench of fear deep in his gut.

"That's new," he muttered, referring to the scar that now ran across her shoulder blade and partially down her torso. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and he felt the pit of fear deepen.

"It's nothing. Nothing," she said, reaching for him again.

He paused, moving back slightly, concern overriding all other thoughts. "Evelyn... Please," he begged.

She sighed, probably able to tell from his expression and tone that he would not let this go.

"There was... a dragon," she began slowly, not quite meeting his eyes.

"I fear I may have misheard you," he replied. "For a moment there I thought you said there was a dragon."

She shrugged. "It took a swipe at me before I could fade walk out of its way," she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, releasing her from his arms and sitting upright. He raked a frustrated hand through his already rumpled hair. "I wish I hadn't asked now," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

She chuckled and rose to sit beside him, wrapping her arms around him and placing a soft kiss on his shoulder. He looked down, marvelling as her delicate hands wound across his skin. He caught her fingers in his own hand and raised them to his lips.

"Do not worry, love," she whispered in his ear. "I will always return to you."

"You cannot promise that," he replied, hearing and hating the note of desperation in his voice as he craned his neck around to gaze at her.

"No," she agreed, smiling and bestowing another kiss on his shoulder, "But I _can_ promise that I will always do my best... Is that not enough?"

He snorted a wondrous huff of laughter, realising he was being ridiculous. She was here, in his arms and had survived everything thus far; dwelling on 'what ifs' was pointless.

He turned back to her once again, taking her in his arms and bearing her once again to the floor.

"It is enough," he replied, stretching out above her and capturing her lips.


End file.
